


Hero's Harp, Hero's Harp, Mòrag's Swords are Sharp

by MouseBird



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Not sure what exactly to call this AU, Reverse Fire Fighter AU???, very very loosely based on random facts about the Roman Emperors AU????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MouseBird/pseuds/MouseBird
Summary: Brighid learns that the royal family might not be as crazy as they seem.





	Hero's Harp, Hero's Harp, Mòrag's Swords are Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in forever so it might be a bit rough but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. The characters are going to be somewhat OOC but hopefully they end up resembling their canon selves in later chapters. Other characters besides Brighid and Mòrag will appear in later chapters, I'll add them to the character tags when they do. Also, the title will change once I can think of a better one lmao. Uhh I think that's it.

The best thing one could say about the current ruling family was that they were not as crazy as their predecessors. That was not saying much considering the previous Emperors had done things like making a horse a senator.

Brighid’s dad was a senator, but he was no horse. As far as she knew, anyways. It was his fault that she was in the situation in the first place, having to burn down the house of a man because he locked himself in there after learning that he was placed on Lady Mòrag’s hit list.

Sure, she had burned down houses before, but this was the first time she was doing her job in front of Lady Mòrag, her boss.

Having Mòrag herself was breathing down her neck, waiting for her to do her job did not make the situation any better.

“Well, get on with it,” she commanded. She had one of her swords drew, turning it impatiently in her hand.

When Brighid was a child, other kids had called her a witch for her talent with fire. Her father called it a business opportunity. An ability that he could use to get on the royal family’s good side.

She held her hands up, palms facing the locked house. “You know, if he ends up burning alive it will count as my kill,” Brighid said.

“I already killed half the people on the list, it doesn’t matter as I can’t lose,” Mòrag said.

“I could kill the other half, then we’d tie,” Brighid said.

Brighid felt a gaze burn the back of her head. It was almost as hot as her flames. “I suppose you could, but I doubt it.” How rude. “Now, stop stalling and burn down the house already.”

 It was not a fair competition anyways, considering that you are the one that made the list, Brighid wanted to spit back, but she swallowed the words down. Insulting her boss was not on her list of things to do.

Brighid took a deep breath. Blue flames flew from the palms of her hand to the house. What would the kids say now? They would probably still call her a witch, not that Brighid would have disagreed with them. She would deserve it.

The house was properly burning, so now it was just a waiting game. Either the man would appear or his ashes would become mixed with the remains of the house.

Brighid placed her crossed her arms, flames no longer coming out of her hands. She turned to her boss, the sight not being one that she expected.

Mòrag’s mouth was slightly open and her eyes wide, the blue flames dancing in the reflection. “Beautiful,” Mòrag whispered. The complement would have made Brighid feel good, if it didn’t have to do with her flames burning down a house with a person in it.

A scream caused Brighid to face the house again. A burning man jumped through a window and onto the ground, shards of glass digging into his skin. A building pile of blood landed under the man and was growing by the second. That seemed to snap Mòrag out of her trance as she walked over to the man.

His yells continued to permeate the air, joined with the sound of crackling flames and the stench of burnt flesh and wood. The screams quickly came to an end as Mòrag sliced off his head which was almost unrecognizable as a human head due to the burns from Brighid’s flames.

“Now I won,” Mòrag stated. The corners of her lips turned upwards.

“So you have,” Brighid said. Even if her boss was not the sanest of people, Brighid had to admit that seeing her standing victorious with a small smile plastered on her face was a beautiful sight by itself, even if the smile did not reach her eyes. The flaming house did provide some nice lighting too, creating a blue outline around Mòrag’s form.

* * *

Her blue flames became a sign of death or debt in Mor Ardain.

Despite being government owned, the fire fighters would refuse to extinguish the flames until the owner of the building would pay the firemen exorbitant fees to do their job. Most people were unable to, as most of their money was in the building in question, already burnt to a crisp. There was always the possibility that they died in the fire too, which happened about half of the time.

After all of Brighid’s work and burning, Mòrag was the one who ended up with the flame based nickname. Flamebringer, the people called her in fear when they saw her approach with Brighid by her side.

Brighid did get a nickname herself too. The Jewel of Mor Ardain, a very flattering name for someone who burns down houses for a living. Brighid had no idea where it had came from though one of her theories was that it was the result of getting rid of her flames costing about the same as a rare jewel.

The victims of her flames would sometimes call her by her childhood nickname too. “Witch,” they would spit at her, baring their teeth. Walking slowly towards the victim with a flame in hand seemed to calm most of them down.

The truly stupid ones would call her that when Mòrag was there. Mòrag was not nearly as kind as Brighid. The lucky ones would escape with just a scratch on their neck, while most left with less fingers then they started with.

Possibly the dumbest man in all of Alrest continued his barking even after losing his thumb and pointer finger.

“How nice of you to take care of your precious Jewel like that,” he said, holding his injured hand with his good one.

Instead of cutting off his head, Mòrag placed her sword back on her hip and just said, “Thanks.”

Brighid didn’t know why, but that one had hurt the most.

* * *

Brighid stood outside of Mòrag’s office. She had been in the palace multiple times before but this was her first time in the living quarters. Her dad used to drag her to Senate meetings when she was younger in hopes that she’d become friends with Mòrag but the then future Empress was always away at her studies or at combat training.

She knocked on the door to Mòrag’s office.

“Come on in,” Mòrag called.

Brighid opened the door.

Mòrag was hunched over a desk, with a pen in one hand and her head in the other. There two piles of paper in front of her, both of them the size of a dictionary. Her cap was resting on her desk and all of her armor was sitting on a chair at the side of the room. Despite her poor posture, Mòrag’s shoulders seemed to be lower than usual. Apparently even bloodthirsty Special Inquisitors had to deal with paperwork. Brighid was little surprised that Mòrag wasn’t slicing the papers up like she would do with anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

“You called for me, Lady Mòrag?” Brighid asked.

Mòrag looked up and placed the pen on the desk. Her eyes had pronounced bags under them. They were big enough that Brighid could use them to carry her groceries home. “Ah, yes. Take a seat.” Mòrag motioned to the only other chair in the room, the one with her armor on it. “Or just stand,” Mòrag quickly added with an awkward cough.

Brighid raised an eyebrow but did not say anything. She leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m sure you already know this but most of Mor Ardain fears your flames.” Brighid couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or if Mòrag was just stating the facts. Her delivery seemed to imply the former but that didn’t mean Brighid liked it. “I would like the people of other countries to be the same way,” Mòrag continued.

“You want me to go around and burn down houses in other countries?” Brighid asked.

Mòrag pushed her self away from the desk so that Brighid could see that she still had her swords on her hips. She placed a hand on one of the hilts and narrowed her eyes. “I expect you to do so, yes.” Ah, of course. It was foolish of Brighid to even think she would have a choice in the matter. “I will come with you to make sure that the other countries will learn to fear Mor Ardain. We will leave the morning after tomorrow. Meet me by the docks, I’ll have a ship ready. That is all.”

Brighid bowed her head. “Thank you, Lady Mòrag,” she said, hoping that her dislike for this plan would not sneak its way through. As much as traveling excited her, she’d rather not be burning down random houses in other countries. They’d probably wouldn’t want her back after she was done.

Brighid turned around and took a step out of the office. Mòrag’s chair screeched against the floor as she pushed herself closer to the desk.

“Lady Mòrag?” Brighid said, stopping right outside the door frame.

“Hmm?”

“Try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll… try. Thank you, Brighid.”


End file.
